


The Golden Hour

by Dordean, TheCyrulik



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, Conspiracy, English translation, Gen, Meredrid is important, Politics, Translation, my life is werid?, nobody familiar with the lore is gonna be surprised with the ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 15:41:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14814201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dordean/pseuds/Dordean, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCyrulik/pseuds/TheCyrulik
Summary: Nilfgaard lost the war to the Northern Kingdoms. Nilfgaardian aristocracy isn't pleased with the situation and both Emhyr var Emreis and Morvran Voorhis are doing their best to ensure the empire won't fall apart in the meantime, each doing it in their own way. Time is running too fast and piles of imperial documents on the emperor's desk keep growing. Everyone knows what is bound to happen, yet anxiety is in the air.





	The Golden Hour

**Author's Note:**

> The greatest hero here is [Dordean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dordean) who translated my precious baby with all the love it deserved and made it even better. I owe you more than I can give.  
> Many thanks to [ Kael](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeltale/pseuds/kaeltale) and [Sparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_sparrows_fall) for beta.  
> Written for [Beidak](https://eeerlenwald.tumblr.com/) and [Jagal](https://kurhanik.tumblr.com/), with love. They make tons of fanart for this and other weird headcanons, you should check them out.
> 
> Original in polish available [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14390217)

***

When they came for him, an hour after dawn, he was ready.

***

He rose a little earlier than was his customary routine. The time was running out and the list of things that needed doing was not getting any shorter. He took some small amount of comfort in knowing that the empire would go into hands that could hardly be considered incompetent. 

He had spent weeks now pulling at the multiple strings of varying lengths to increase General Voorhis’ chances after the coup - the coup that was coming, and fast - and the unfortunate fact that the conspirators were still divided among themselves was neither surprising, nor good for the empire. Lord de Clausen’s faction continued to grow in strength, weakening Voorhis’ position as a result - which was something that simply could not be allowed to happen.

Emhyr had used every opportunity the circumstances had presented to make it more difficult for de Clausen to gain following - and where there were no opportunities readily available, the Urcheon of Erlenwald had created them himself. Rumours whispered at the banquets, drunk messengers in the taverns, misplaced letters - all conjured up a reality where Morvran seemed like an ideal successor, and his opponents a little less competent than political honesty would have it. 

It was nothing too improbable, naturally; nothing that would have given his opponents any reason to be suspicious. It was, however, enough to subtly influence the attitudes of those who did not yet have a clear vision of the kind of a person the next emperor should be.

He had also watched, approvingly, the relationship between the young general and his father become less and less amicable with every passing day. 

Matthias Voorhis was a man of iron will, known for a lack of mercy for his enemies - which were both desirable traits in a potential ruler. Unfortunately, he was also vengeful and impulsive, which in Emhyr's opinion disqualified him as a candidate for the role.

Thus, a few elegant moves later, the majority of the Trade Corporation was convinced it was not Matthias, but Morvran - younger and less experienced, but highly intelligent - who should sit on the throne; all the while allowing the Corporation to manipulate the new emperor through his father's hands.

Fortunately, they seemed to underestimate the influence of other players. General Voorhis made no such mistake, and had, in fact, already taken steps to ensure he had support outside the Corporation - support of a significant importance; something Emhyr var Emreis had a hand in securing as well. 

Letters to those few who thought themselves friends of the emperor - who in turn considered them to be but useful allies - had been sent a week earlier. The aim was to keep stability as much as possible during the shift of power; any misplaced attempts at a revenge against the new emperor, although undertaken in good faith, could render the country vulnerable during its first moments under the new rule.

Emhyr also considered writing a few words to Cirilla and sending them - but where would he send them to? 

The first thought was the sorceress Yennefer, but through her his words could reach the Lodge. He did not think Yennefer inclined to read other people's correspondence, but magicians were cunning by nature; the trait that made them into worthy opponents also made them poor trustees of the last words of a father to his daughter. Finding the witcher in such a short space of time bordered on a miracle. It was unlikely that Queen Cerys an Craite was in regular contact with the Lion Cub of Cintra, and Kaer Morhen was abandoned for most of the year. 

The emperor meticulously rejected all potential means of contacting Cirilla, and eventually abandoned the idea of sending the letter, but in the end, the letter itself was written; just a few sentences, for his pride - and his particular understanding of decency - did not allow for anything more. He wrote it slowly, with care, and he deposited it in the bottom drawer of his desk. The name written on the envelope caught his eye and caused a sharp pang of pain to shoot through him. Angrily, he shoved the drawer closed and got up.

From the window of his study he could see the inner courtyard with its splendid imperial gardens. A few aristocrats were walking slowly along the paths, among the naked trees and yellow-green lawns. He wondered briefly how many among them were conspirators, plotting against him; how many of those high-born Nilfgaardians currently admiring the blooming crocuses would have stabbed him in the back had he given them such an opportunity? 

Hard as he tried, he could not shake a sudden feeling of resentment that overtook him: there was still so much work left, he thought with irritation, and this band of fools - driven by their greed - was only focused on destroying everything he worked so hard to build and preserve. 

He cast a final, annoyed glance at them and went back to work.

Before he focused on the internal affairs with their potential trials and tribulations, he spent a long time analysing the empire’s external relations. Voorhis was a good strategist, but his focus was mainly on warfare; different rules applied in the time of peace, the nuances of which could initially slip Morvran’s attention. 

To that end, Emhyr compiled a detailed report on all the tributaries and the current state of their relationship with the empire. He was confident Voorhis would surround himself with competent experts in politics and diplomacy, but none could match the razor sharp - and equally ruthless - mind of Emhyr var Emreis. The emperor had solid grounds to believe some of his observations were likely to escape the attention of both Voorhis and his current and future supporters, which made them invaluable as far as reasons of state were concerned. 

In short, ever since a few weeks earlier, Emhyr had realised with clarity that his defeat was imminent, and his quill was nearly burning in his hand. 

His other preemptive move was to relieve the most loyal servants, to minimise the risk of them becoming a collateral damage during the coup. His situation was not unlike a game of chess, he thought; one he knew he had lost, though his opponent was not yet aware of it. He would play till the end, as always; simply to witness the moment his adversaries would realise they had won. For that reason he kept Mererid by his side - sending him away would cause enough concern among his opponents to bring about an untimely end of this particular game. Time had become an even more precious commodity to him now. 

Everyday he would rise at dawn and spend the entire day behind his desk, making titanic attempts to iron out all the aspects of ruling over the empire, trying to foresee his successor’s first mistakes, and minimizing the perceived losses. The undercover messengers kept coming and going, the endless stream of correspondence never slowing down.

Emhyr realised he began to feel anxiety. Not only was he worried about the future of the empire, but also, surprisingly, about his own future as well. He had never been one to concern himself with matters of the soul and the existence of gods; he also did not think himself to be afraid of death. And yet, every day brought him more of the uneasiness and pain deep in his chest, a pain that he vaguely remembered from the distant, more human times - the times before the sea storm and the shipwreck - a pain he still failed to put a name to.

The chamberlain’s presence gave some respite to his nerves; Mererid noticed his master’s anxiety and even though he wasn't privy to its source, he tried to put his ruler at ease to the best of his abilities. 

In the middle of putting together a short report concerning a small, barely organised, but potentially dangerous separatist movement among the nobles of the Maecht court, not pausing the constant flow of words onto the page even for a moment, Emhyr reached out to pick up a few dates from a bowl Mererid had the foresight to leave on his desk. He considered taking a short break for a supper, but dismissed it as a waste of time. 

It was to happen the next day, he was bitterly certain of it, and there was still much left to do. 

He could have been wrong in his calculations and predictions, naturally; such occasions, however, were rare. No, they would most definitely come tomorrow, and he had to be ready - for not everything could be contained in writing and if tomorrow's events went the way he had spent these past few days shaping, he should be able to pass a few important matters to Voorhis in person. 

Weary, he reached out to pick some more fruit, and continued writing.

The chamberlain came later in the evening to check if the emperor needed anything. Seeing the fruit bowl emptied and, what was even more unusual, two apple cores on the far side of the desk, Mererid began to insist on serving a late meal, but he was stopped with a gesture.

“There is no point in waking anyone now,” Emhyr said in a tired voice from behind the documents. 

“Your Imperial Majesty, I cannot allow…”

“You can. You will.” The emperor finished the paragraph and raised his head. He stared at the chamberlain, whose features in the recent weeks seemed to be permanently arranged in an expression of concern - now even more so than usual.

“Mererid.”

“Your Majesty?”

Emhyr didn't speak right away. He looked at the documents in front of him, then at the bowl, empty of dates. Then he looked at the chamberlain, who had never seen such an expression on the emperor’s face before.

“From tomorrow onward, your assistance is no longer required. Leave before dawn, take only the bare essentials. A carriage will be waiting by the gardens’ western gate; it will take you to your sister in Ebbing. All the formalities regarding the termination of your employment have already been taken care of. You shall receive a lifelong remuneration for your service, equivalent to the quality of that service.” Emhyr got up and took one of the envelopes from a chest of drawers by the window. He handed it to the chamberlain, whose expression was one of utter bewilderment, and the first threads of fear.

“Do not open it until you leave the city. You will find there a recommendation letter to one of the Ebbing princes, favourable to me, together with a few other documents that should make your journey easier.”

“Your Majesty, I…”

“That would be all, Mererid. You may leave now. I have matters to attend to.” Emhyr cut him off, his throat uncomfortably tight.

The chamberlain was staring at him for exactly a split second longer than the court etiquette allowed. He bowed with deliberate care.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” he said in a tone suggesting he wanted to say something completely different, and left, a little too fast.

Emhyr looked after him for a moment; then with a painful effort he shook off the lingering numbness and forced his focus back to work. ***

Morvran Voorhis was getting more nervous with each passing day. He understood the necessity for extreme measures, the reason of state, and the fact that the good of the nation was taking precedence over the good of individual citizens, naturally. 

Nevertheless, he had not been that shaken since the time of his first campaign, when as a nineteen year old officer he had seen for the first time what war really looked like. 

Now he felt under attack again; only this time, his enemies couldn’t be identified by the colours of the banners they carried. Now they were hiding in plain view, disguised as his supporters. 

Some were patting his back and offering their support, while hiding a knife behind their backs; others seemed eager to praise the day long before the Great Sun had set - as the saying in Nilfgaard went - forcing their vision of the empire’s bright future on him; the vision that happened to be the only reasonable one, naturally. Others still tried to exercise some form of control over the future emperor, forcing him - with various levels of subtlety - to alter his plans a little, testing how strong they can push, how prone to their influence he would be.

Amongst them was Morvran’s father. 

As things stood, Prince Voorhis was torn between frustration and pride. Frustration, as for a long time he had been one of the most likely candidates for the next emperor, until Baron Leuvaarden put forward the candidature of his son - which was met with unanimous support of the Trade Corporation. Pride, as he took the lack of trust from his fellow conspirators as a sign of an appreciation for his unyielding character and an iron will that made him a man impossible to manipulate. 

But his son as an emperor - that was also a nice outcome, was it not? It would surprise nobody if the young ruler were to turn to his experienced father for advice, who, understandably, would be only too happy to oblige. Once, twice - even a hundred times if necessary. 

Yes, Prince Matthias Voorhis had nothing against young Morvran doubting his own leadership skills every once in a while. And should that happen, he, the Prince, would rush to help his son - and in no time he would have the entire empire dancing to his tune, with nobody the wiser.

Morvran Voorhis let his father indulge in those unarguably pleasant visions. The non-physical burden he felt on his chest, the burden that was getting heavier with each passing day, did not affect his caution and his military shrewdness. The Prince was a known opponent, predictable in his overconfidence. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said about the other members of the opposition, the frustrated aristocrats acting as if they were on tenterhooks, constantly looking for new mistakes and dangers in the general's strategy.

At first, Morvran had reacted with annoyance to the irritability and animosity between the rival fractions, until an idea struck him: he started treating each nobleman, or any group with shared interests, like a spooked horse. 

This, combined with his talent to inspire obedience, honed to perfection during the years of the imperial military service, brought great results. The baronesses were less prone to hysterics, the dukes stopped the irritated snorting behind his back, and the counts no longer had such nervous, darting eyes. Voorhis finally felt confident in the saddle, and only the thought of the underlying reason behind this crowd pacification exercise didn't let him breathe freely. 

Once the conspirators’ impatience got close to the breaking point, Morvran decided the time had come. He prepared the appropriate letters, sent out the messengers and made sure the necessary army support was in place. After the preparations were completed, he took his dagger and went to the royal stables.

“Hello Firez, old friend.”

The stallion in the last stall neighed quietly, recognising his master’s voice. Voorhis looked around to make sure he was alone, took a nearby stool, placed it by the door and stroke the horse's muzzle. The brown-seal stallion gazed at Morvran with his gentle eyes, soothing his heartbreak. 

The general fed the horse a sugar cube and whispered to him softly. He sat down, and ignoring Firez’s quiet snorts, took out the dagger and began sharpening it. At first, his moves were slow, deliberate, precise, but soon he caught himself angrily striking sparks with the sharpening stone, sparks that could cause the hay that covered the stable floor to catch alight. 

He put away the dagger and led the horse out of the stall. Slowly, with care and reverence, he saddled it, fixed the harness in place and spent a long time adjusting all the belts and buckles. Firez began to grow impatient and made it abundantly clear, snorting and stomping around, until Morvran mounted it and led it out from the stables.

He let Firez choose a route, and let his own thoughts wander. The horse took him along the paved road, all the way past the elven ruins and further across the meadows. Morvran took the reins then, to stop Firez from walking into the swamps, and he directed the horse back onto fields and grassland - grey and naked still, but the green buds on the branches and the first shy flowers in the groves whispered of a coming spring.

Morvran looked in anger at the reminders of the elven settlers, as if the current shape of the events and his predicament had been their fault. If it hadn't been for the Elder Blood, for Ithlinne's prophecy, for Lara Dorren… Maybe the war would’ve had a different outcome? Maybe there wouldn't have been any war at all? 

For a moment he let himself believe that had been the case - that their lives had gone along different paths: that Emhyr had ruled till he’d have died of old age, and he, Morvran, had become a prominent member of the Trade Corporation - and nothing else.

He felt the horse getting anxious which brought him back to the present; Morvran realised it was almost dark and he was still wandering aimlessly, lost in thought. He rode back to the stables, choosing the shortest route, unsaddled Firez and put his arms around the horse's neck for a moment, listening to the sound of their breaths. 

He took the dagger and inspected the blade - it needed only a few strokes of whetstone to be as sharp as a razor, and to guarantee a certain death to anyone who would find themselves on the wrong side of the dagger.

Which was the the true goal here. 

Voorhis tried to convince himself he was doing it out of mercy and respect - the emperor did deserve a quick and noble death after all. If he couldn’t spare him this, Morvran thought, at least let it be over as soon as possible. He hoped his hand, or his voice, wouldn't waver. He did not doubt Emhyr's reaction - it was his own behaviour he was concerned about. 

Of all the people in the world, it was that man the general owed his utmost loyalty - the man he would betray tomorrow. There was a serious risk his heart would break of regret or shame before the time to deliver the final blow would come. 

Quickly, before the next wave of melancholy had a chance to catch him, Morvran focused back on sharpening the dagger; and once finished, he stormed out of the stables and returned to his family's residence.

***

After sending Mererid away, the emperor did not spend too long working. One last project: a bill, which did not seem to change much, with a note to Voorhis explaining the long term goal of the amendment - to make the potential opposition easier to control - so that Morvran could decide for himself if to write the bill into the law or reject it. 

Emhyr considered getting started on yet another document, when the clock’s ringing the hour convinced him not to. The next morning was, after all, the most important day of his life, even though it was going to be his last. It was only fitting that he be of a clear mind. The future of the country could depend on the last conversation between himself and the general.

He arranged the papers into an orderly pile and went to the sleeping chamber, where he fell asleep fast, with a heavy heart. The gods - the very ones he did not believe in - must have been looking after people with a death sentence, as they spared him the nightmares he had been expecting. 

When he woke up at dawn, unusually rested, he began to ponder if such peace of mind is given to every man just before they die. Then he remembered all the executions he had been a witness to - and in an overwhelming majority of cases also a reason of - and he failed to stifle a groan. 

Quickly, to not give himself a chance to start feeling sorry for himself, he put on his usual court robes, as always black and elegant in their simplicity, and moved to the study. There was a plate with freshly baked bread, and some quark. It was clear Mererid could not resist serving him his favourite breakfast one more time before he departed the capital.

Recognising the qualities - or lack of thereof - in people around him was crucial in his role, and Emhyr had long ago realised how good and reliable a servant the chamberlain was - but today the sight of the plate with cheese triggered an unusual pang of pain.

He hoped Mererid had left the capital safely. At that particular moment the opposition could suspect the chamberlain of carrying some sensitive documents or information, so he was badly exposed. Fortunately, Emhyr was expecting Morvran Voorhis in a few hours, and after conversing with him, one could hope that Mererid would reach his sister in Ebbing without any major problems.

The emperor sat heavily in his chair by the desk, his eyes glued to the door, through which the assassins were soon to come. Its black square shape was suddenly an awful sight, like a bad omen: a premonition of his defeat.

But he had already lost; it was obvious the defeat was coming and he needed no premonitions to know that. It was simply fate, he reasoned. The sword of destiny, one he succeeded in avoiding for so long, would finally reach him.

He eventually managed to relax a little; he sat back, throwing one leg over the armrest. It was a decent round, he decided; he hoped the Great Sun would allow him to draw it to the conclusion without an untimely loss of his clarity of mind.

He took a document from the desk and started reading it one more time, adding his notes and comments on the margins.

***

The doors opened silently. Morvran Voorhis accompanied by two members of the Trade Corporation and two armed soldiers walked into the study and stopped just behind the door. Emhyr did not look up from the papers he held on his lap.

“So this is it?” he asked, seemingly unperturbed. 

Voorhis opened his mouth, then closed it again without making a sound. He quelled the impulse to cast a nervous glance at his companions, and instead took one step forward. He cleared his throat. 

“Your Imperial Majesty.”

Emhyr looked up at him, his eyes cold and tired.

“All right. Let us be done with it. There is a lot of work still to be done. I trust you are aware what task you are taking upon yourself, general.”

Morvran stiffened, then jerked in an approximation of a bow.

“It was not a decision made in a haste. Your Excellency may be sure of this,” he said, choosing his words carefully. 

“Very well. I would not wish to die knowing I supported the wrong man.”

The faces of the barons beside him showed an utter bewilderment. Voorhis himself felt a mixture of surprise and satisfaction, the latter lasting only for a fleeting moment. 

So the emperor _was_ expecting it, Morvran thought. By the Great Sun, what turmoil the man must have gone through in the recent days!

“Take your henchmen outside, Voorhis. We have things to discuss.” Emhyr stood up, walked around the desk and leaned against it nonchalantly, facing their little group. 

“You're bringing the country to the brink of destruction, our economy is choking because of your wars, and now you have the gall to—” one of the barons spat, but Morvran cut him off.

“Silence, Sandemose. Get out. All of you.” Voorhis didn’t quite recognise himself in the words he spoke.

“You little brat, how dare you—” Baron Sandemose broke off and looked at Emhyr, who was leaning forward a little, his back against the desk. The noble took in the imperial halsband on the emperor’s neck, Morvran’s face twisted in an adamant expression, the dagger on his belt, and eventually the emblem of the Black Sun, hanging on the wall. He pressed his lips into a thin line, seemingly to stop himself from saying anything more, and nearly ran out of the study, followed by the other noble. 

The soldiers looked at the general for confirmation, and when he gave them a nod they turned around and marched out.

“Make sure the barons wait for me on the corridor. At the far end of it,” Voorhis said pointedly. 

Once the doors behind the soldiers closed, Emhyr turned back to his desk and started going through the drawers. Voorhis, alarmed, reached for the dagger. The emperor gave him a single look, and went back to the documents.

“You do not think,” Emhyr said in a quiet drawl, “that I would attempt some desperate act in order to save myself at this point, do you?”

Morvran, a little embarrassed, let his hand fall free. Meanwhile, the emperor seemingly found what he was looking for: a roll of paper with the var Emreis seal, which he then handed to Voorhis. 

“I shall try to be quick. I would not want to prolong that,” Emhyr couldn't quite hide an ugly grimace, “more than absolutely necessary. You must however hear of a few important matters, and you must hear of them from me, as at the moment I am the only person who can be entirely truthful with you. I have no more reasons left to lie, or deceive.”

“If only I could, I would have never allowed this to happen. Emhyr, you must know that!” Voorhis couldn't stop the words, and for the first time in his life he addressed the emperor by his first name.

“I know, Morvran. I do. But it does not change anything. And right now you need to find a solid footing immediately, since your position is not as stable as I would have liked. And what better way to gain more power than by having the right knowledge? And I happen to have the knowledge,” Emhyr var Emreis spread out his hands to emphasise his point.

“Now, listen. This document contains the most important information regarding the issues you need to concentrate on during the first days of ruling. Do not trust all the advisors who would be looking to influence your decisions, but do not dismiss all of them either, as not all of them are against you. Those few I spoke to are trustworthy. Similarly the palace staff - do be careful, but do not attempt to replace all of them, it would do more ill than good. I already sent away some of my closest servants, to avoid unnecessary distrust and violence, and also to lessen the probability of another coup in the near future.

“A lot of the remaining servants are still very loyal to me,” Emhyr continued with a frown. “Do not hold it against them - loyalty is a virtue, as long as one is not an emperor. I sent away Mererid as well, mostly for his safety. Should you wish, you can send for him, if you can guarantee him immunity from your supporters - but I do not know if he would agree. Do not push him, but if he says yes, you will have at least one trustworthy man in your circle, and the best chamberlain I have ever had. Now, when it comes to Trade Corporation—”

“I know how to deal with them. I have been watching their little games all my life; they will not surprise me,” Morvran snorted. 

“Nevertheless, I hope you are willing to listen to some advice, without me having to beg you?” Emhyr said, his voice turning to ice.

Voorhis, feeling abashed, gave him a small nod to continue.

For the next few minutes Emhyr spoke fast, in a quiet voice, every now and then checking to make sure Morvran was listening. Under normal circumstances it would not have even occurred to him somebody might _not_ listen when he spoke, but it had to be said that he did not feel fully like himself. He was nervously pacing around the room, constantly trying to assess the value of information he was planning to pass on your the general: what had to be mentioned, what could be skipped or left for Voorhis to uncover for himself. His thoughts were spinning at an increasing speed with each passing minute.

Voorhis leaned against the bookcase, his eyes following the emperor, whose behaviour was getting stranger and stranger. He was afraid, he suddenly realised in bewilderment. The White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of his Enemies was facing a death he knew he could not escape. What he did not know is how to deal with it. How to act. What was befitting of an emperor, and what was not. He must have come close to death countless times before, but he had always found a way out, an option to fight or flee.

But now? Now he was forced to quell his survival instinct, his determination that kept him alive for so long, for it could not save him any longer. The thought triggered an incredible amount of pity in Morvran’s heart for the man preparing to die. His own judgement of Emhyr’s rule aside, it would have been simply cruel to prolong this agony.

Thus, he did the only thing he could think of, the only thing likely to offer some relief to the emperor. 

“Your Imperial Majesty,” he cut Emhyr off, trying to stop that bout of panic spinning out of control in front of him.

The emperor paused mid-sentence, a strange expression on his face. His eyes, fixed on the general, seemed a little less cold. He nodded and came closer to Morvran, leaned against the desk and stood there for a moment, hunched over, looking small and fragile. It seemed very easy to hurt him now.

“There is one more thing,” he spoke in a quiet voice, after a moment of hesitation. “The last one, I promise.

“In the last drawer, there is...a letter. It is addressed, but I did not manage to find a safe way to get it delivered in such a short space of time. Naturally, it is not urgent…” his voice trailed off. 

Morvran nodded.

“Say no more. I understand. I will find Cirilla and give her the letter.”

Emhyr's gaze was fixed on the wall, behind the arrases. He realised he began to feel _things_ \- things the existence of which he had forgotten long ago. They were not pleasant, by any stretch of imagination; nevertheless Emhyr accepted them, and even revelled in them. 

He cherished all the feelings he was disconnected from for so long. His heart beat faster, and his precise mechanism of an analytical mind was being flooded with panicked images - of himself falling apart, of Voorhis faltering in his resolution, of the general finding himself in a similar situation not a week from now, bleeding to death somewhere in his private chambers, a knife between his ribs. 

After the panic came the fear - but not just a regular fright, but a fear of the unknown. The emperor had never given any gods many reasons to look at him kindly. Get a grip, he thought. Whatever you did, you did it according to your conscience and out of necessity. If the punishment was an eternal condemnation, you should face it with your head held high, like your father's son. And if there was nothing to face, then, well… Then all these dilemmas would solve themselves, would they not?

Last came the weariness. Emhyr var Emreis, the White Flame that Danced on the Barrows of his Enemies, got unbelievingly tired of the whole situation. He had no more strength left to explain to himself, and to Morvran, why he did what he did. It all ceased to matter. 

If the decisions he had made were right, he would postpone the fall of the empire, if only by a little. If he had been wrong - and the emperor rarely made mistakes - it was too late to make amendments; his successor was competent enough to allow for some trust in his talents to defuse dangerous conflicts. And if Morvran failed to do so - that meant nobody else would have been able to do that either.

When he raised his head, his mind was clear, his face bright like never before. The cool gaze of the emperor, at that moment gone almost soft, met Morvran’s eyes, filled with warmth and regret. 

Emhyr nodded almost imperceptibly, and straightened up. His square jaw had a sharp, predatory look. He looked Voorhis straight in the eyes as the general took out the dagger he had sharpened the day before, and in one swift move stabbed Emhyr between the ribs.

The emperor’s face contracted in a brief grimace of pain, which quickly turned into regret. He was desperately trying to catch the gaze of his assassin, who removed the blade with one hand, while holding onto Emhyr's body with the other, easing him down onto the carpet. 

Morvran held him by the shoulders, and looked into his eyes. Emhyr felt deep gratitude for that last act of kindness, even though his vision was getting blurry and he could no longer see clearly. All he could hear was his heart beating loud, desperately trying to compensate for the loss of blood that was flowing in a warm trickle down his chest and onto the floor. 

His vision narrowed down to shapes and splashes of colour - a white oval of the general's face; the terrible dark square of the door his assassins came through; the metal emblem of the Great Sun, glistening in the morning light, its black rays seemingly reaching out to him, mocking him. 

Couldn’t you see, White Flame? Your dance was over, but the Great Sun still shone, illuminating the next emperor. 

His vision cleared for the last time. Using the last of his strength, he twisted his mouth into something he vaguely remembered was a smile. He could see Morvran’s face now, white as paper, as the general kneeled beside him with one hand on Emhyr’s torso, the other holding his wrist. His own hand turned, his fingers gripping clumsily at Voorhis’ arm. 

Morvran felt the weak grasp growing even weaker as he looked at Emhyr's face: eyes closed, brow furrowed, traces of a frown full of regret.

The emperor died.

***

A long time passed before Morvran decided to call for baron Sandemose and his companion. First, he took the letter for Cirilla out of the drawer. Next, he took the most important notes that Emhyr had prepared for him and hid everything in his robes. For a brief moment he considered taking the imperial halsband too, but he quickly changed his mind. 

He walked out onto the corridor to call the soldiers, patiently standing at its very end, guarding a group of small and deeply irritated nobles. He walked towards them slowly.

“Have the bells ring for mourning. Emperor Emhyr var Emreis is dead.”

There was a ripple of whispers among their group. Lord de Clausen - wherever he came from and whatever he was doing there remained a mystery - was demanding in a loud voice to see the body, as a final proof.

“Shut your mouth, de Clausen,” Voorhis hissed. “And get out of my sight. What was due to happen did happen. Go back to your duties, all of you. I will be in the council chamber. Have my father meet me there.” 

With that, Morvran turned around and marched away.

Emhyr spent the final days of his life ensuring the transition of power went as smooth as possible, the general thought; he defused some conflicts while inciting others, so that there wouldn’t be an anarchy now. Thanks to that, there was only a lone de Clausen and the pacified crowd to be dealt with, rather than with a multitude of blue-blooded troublemakers. 

He couldn't waste all Emhyr’s efforts now, only because he couldn't get his emotions under control. 

He could not fail the man he had killed.

The aristocracy’s docility couldn't last forever though, he thought soberly, walking into the council chamber. 

In the middle of the table a large map of the North laid unfolded, with the figures representing the Nordling and the imperial forces stored away in a wooden box beside it. He sat down on one of the chairs, pulled out the parchment from Emhyr and broke the var Emreis seal. With a heavy sigh he started to study the document.

It was time to rule.


End file.
